


Full

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Couch Sex, F/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 23:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8642935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: Ben and Leslie have some post-Thanksgiving dinner cuddles. And then some. (AKA, Thanksgiving smut, HAPPY THANKSGIVING!)





	

“I think I want more pie.”

Leslie is snuggled into that perfect spot under his arm, his hand lazily playing in her hair as she gently rubs circles into his stomach. Her hands feel nice, her fingers sometimes pulling up the bottom of his t-shirt, causing her nails to rake along his skin. He’s fallen asleep a few times, _Miracle on 34th Street_ playing softly on the TV as they lounge on the couch. He’s full and happy, his fiancée creating ripples of warmth through his body. He doesn’t want to move.

“You don’t need more pie,” he mumbles, turning his face into her hair. He kisses the sunny waves.

“I always need more pie,” she counters, snuggling closer to him.

Leslie pushes her hand underneath his shirt and he inhales at her warm touch, arching his back so she can reach higher, running her fingers along his chest and over his stomach in slow, sweeping motions. He could melt into the sofa, dissolve into her skin. He moans when she rubs along his side, pushing the tips of her fingers underneath the waistband of his jeans. They’re unbuttoned already; it’s Thanksgiving, it happens.

“I know, but stay here,” he says.

Ben pulls her closer and he hears her giggle, feels her teeth on that small exposed part of his skin around his collar. He inhales, gripping her hair, and she makes a small noise that rattles him more awake. Her tongue slides along his skin and she adjusts so she can now use both hands to explore him.

“Okay,” she says, climbing into his lap.

“Mm, better.”

Leslie kisses him, so soft and patient, not like her usual hungry, needy kisses. He likes it, though, it’s perfect right now, it helps wake him up, it heats him through until his hands start working again, finding her hair, lining her spine, holding onto her hips. She rocks gently above him and the friction is feather light and heavenly. He groans along her tongue and she smiles, his lips catching her teeth, allowing her to bite down just enough to make him growl.

Ben lifts her shirt off and Leslie unhooks her bra. He pushes her away just enough so he can kiss down her chest, devour her breasts, and lick along the curves of her torso. She sighs and moans, these pleasant and electric sounds that pulse in his ears. He’s expanding in his jeans, uncomfortable, and Leslie — perfect, amazing, incredibly driven and smart Leslie Knope — pulls down on his pants and boxers just enough to free his dick.

He misses her skin, but he waits as she stands up and pulls down her own pair of unbuttoned jeans and he adjusts his own pants. He pushes himself off the couch, grabbing her hips, kissing along her stomach and down, down, down to the start of her panties. They have multiple pies printed along them just for the holiday, and when Ben saw her slide them on this morning, his heart burst.

He bites down on the fabric and pulls it with his teeth, letting it go so it snaps against her skin. She giggles, swatting him away. He pulls her back to his lap and they both sigh, Leslie’s hips moving much quicker this time, her kisses turning back into their impatient, hungry pace. She tastes sweet with hints of wine. He drinks her up, devours her, pulls at her hips and hair, rubs his fingers along her breasts, bites down on her lip too hard. She groans and Ben moves his hand between them, lining himself up with her while moving her panties to the side. 

Leslie arches her back, adjusts her hips, and soon he’s right there. She rolls her hips and he closes his eyes, engulfed by how wet she is, how soft, how warm. 

“ _Fuck_.”

She holds Ben’s face in her hands, pulling him up to kiss her and Leslie moves, sinking onto him with ease. He moans along her lips, cursing as her tongue lines his bottom lip. She rides him, holding onto his neck, his shoulders, finding leverage along the back of the couch. He just holds on, let’s her rock and roll her hips, arch her back, and throw her head back with each new depth and curve she finds. He lines her body with his hands, pays special attention to her tits, her ass, her throat. His thumb finally rests on her clit, but she creates the friction with the thrust of her hips.

Leslie moves faster and Ben babbles how much he loves her and how she feels around his dick. He kisses her jaw and her cheeks and she moves faster and faster, her moans gathering volume, shaky and high pitched. Her forehead falls to his shoulder and Ben whispers his encouragement, tells her he’s close as the heat travels up his thighs and into his dick, spreading out into his body like a heatwave.

She stills and Ben pushes up into her for a few thrusts and she’s screaming into his chest, shaking and pulsing around his dick as she crests. He pushes in and out of her for just a minute longer before he spills inside her, one hand on her hip, the other still between them, pushing along her clit, causing her to shake and yelp with every thrust. He let’s go, holding onto her middle, squeezing her as she holds onto him around his neck. They keep moving, just enough to make them both shake and gasp every now and then.

Leslie makes him so needy. He fucks her and immediately wants to be buried in her again. Damn biology.

He softens inside her as she kisses his neck and cheeks. He pecks her on the nose and helps her slide off of him, snuggling back into his side. It’s hard to move even though he would like to pull his pants up or grab a blanket, but the sleepy haze is returning at full force.

Ben turns his head, kissing her hair.

“I love you, babydoll. Happy Thanksgiving.”

She rubs her face into his chest, squeezing him around the middle. 

“It’s Christmas time now, Ben,” she says, her voice laced with something warm and sleepy.

He laughs, running his hand slowly up her arm and into her hair. 

“Okay, Merry Christmas, then, Leslie Knope.”

“Merry Christmas, Ben Wyatt.”


End file.
